


The Proof is in the Punch

by caesia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:25:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesia/pseuds/caesia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks host their annual Christmas party, and Sansa gets caught under the mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proof is in the Punch

**Author's Note:**

> I caught the holiday fic bug and this is what happened. Hope you enjoy!

When she was younger, her family’s annual Christmas party had been one of the highlights of Sansa’s holiday season. Throughout the year, she looked forward to wearing her most festive holiday dress, drinking ginger ale with maraschino cherries, and making conversation with all of her parent’s friends. Arya usually joined their little brothers in the playroom in the basement, and Robb spent most of his teenage years plotting with their neighbor’s son Theon to sneak into the kitchen where their mom kept punch for the grown-ups, but Sansa thrived under the adoring attention of the adults. Her mom’s friends complimented the gold and silver ribbons in her hair, her father’s friends joked about what a heartbreaker she would be when she grew up, and without fail she went to bed dreaming of all the elegant holiday parties she herself would throw when she was married someday.

Now that she was twenty-three, the yearly event no longer reminded her of the magical party in the first act of the Nutcracker. Gold sequins had long ago replaced the red tulle in her closet, and she spent the first hour of the evening wishing she had conspired with Robb to pick up some of those little airplane bottles of rum to fortify her punch glass. Instead of remarking on how tall she’d grown or how much like her mother she now looked, her parent’s guests had turned to more serious questions. How was she liking her job at the boutique down the street? Where was that nice young man, (Jeffrey, was it?) who had been at her side the past few years? Well, what about that nice cousin of Theon’s, had she thought about giving him a call?

Sansa could lie through her teeth about loving her job, even if she’d rather be running her own shop than selling baby clothes to women only a few years older than her. She could usually talk about Joffrey with a calm expression, too, though she wanted to laugh bitterly every time someone mentioned how nice he’d been. A few glasses of punch helped, of course, and the half a bottle of wine she’d gulped (sipped, really, it wasn’t like she had possibly felt the need to pregame her parent’s holiday party) while getting ready. But when Olenna Tyrell mentioned setting her up with Euron, a relation of Theon’s who wore an _eyepatch_ as a fashion accessory, of all things, Sansa had to excuse herself and head back to the kitchen for a refill.

Pushing past Arya, who was correcting a group of her father’s youngest associates on rule changes in the NFL, Sansa turned the corner into the kitchen-

-and barely avoided running headlong into Jon Snow.  She reached out with her left hand to steady herself and ended up clutching at the black watch plaid of his shirt. He put a hand on her waist at the same time and deftly held his dripping punch glass out to the side.

“Sansa! Hey,” her brother’s friend started. Sansa opened her mouth to forestall yet another conversation about her job and her ex-boyfriend. Unfortunately, at that precise moment her mom’s holiday punch caught up with her.

“I don’t think navy is really a Christmas color, Jon,” she blurted.

He looked down at his shirt, crumpled slightly under her fingers. Sansa shifted her gaze to his collarbone, visible where he’d left more buttons undone than she would have expected. He’d spent his senior year of high school living with the Starks while his mother struggled with her health, and he’d never looked this good. _Surely_ she would have noticed if one of her brother’s friends had looked this good.

“At least it’s got green though, right?” he asked mildly. Sansa reluctantly let go of his shirt, and his hand drifted down to her hip before leaving her side completely. For a moment, she thought she could play this awkward interaction off, circle the room a few times and find him later when he’d had more punch and this would all be forgotten. Then he raised the plastic cup to his mouth and licked the red drops spilling down the side before taking a long sip. Sansa felt her face heat up.

“I guess you get half-credit, then” she replied hesitantly. Finally, her brain kicked into gear and she remembered Jon had something to celebrate this holiday season. “Congratulations on the promotion! I hear you’re the youngest section editor in the paper’s history!” Her mom had always said it was foolish for Jon to major in journalism when it was a dying profession, but Sansa wasn’t sure her business degree was worth a great deal more, especially since he clearly loved his job at the local newspaper.

Now Jon was the one to act flustered. “Thanks. It’s really only because Mormont is retiring early, but I’m excited to have my own staff to manage.” He took another long drink from his punch, and Sansa noticed it was already half empty. She thought about how to reassure him that he deserved the job, but Jon continued. “Robb told me it’s your first Stark Christmas party as a single woman since high school. Are all the mothers here trying to set you up?”

“When they aren’t prying for details about the break up,” she answered ruefully.

“I would offer you advice, but last year I got cornered into a blind date with Theon’s sister- the one who no one’s seen since elementary school after she went to that soccer academy in California? I think it was actually a reform school. She laughed at me every time I tried to make conversation and she kept playing with a switchblade at the table.”

“It’s been suggested I should give his cousin a call.”

“The one with the eyepatch?”

“The very one.” Jon threw his head back and laughed. Sansa liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners behind his glasses. A few minutes ago, she’d been close to tears, but realizing Jon had made it through the same comments year after year made her feel better. That, and just _imagining_ him on a date with Asha Greyjoy.

Suddenly Rickon and his troop of friends came crashing around the corner. Her brother waited expectantly, then scowled at them.

“The whole _point_ of mistletoe is you don’t have to flirt first.”

Sansa looked up to find a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway of the kitchen, right where she and Jon had been talking. He spotted it, too, and then his eyes drifted down to her lips. Sansa felt frozen in place.

“Hurry up! Mom thinks we’re upstairs finding more napkins, and we might not get another chance to grab some punch!”

Jon tore his eyes away and cleared his throat. “Do you think I’m having anything to do with helping you sneak alcohol at a party thrown by _Catelyn Stark_? Get out of here and help your mom with the napkins, Rickon.”

Her youngest brother rolled his eyes before turning away, muttering about finding beers in the basement. Sansa took another glance at the cheerful red berries above her head and made up her mind.

“It’s bad luck to stand under mistletoe and not kiss, you know,” she said in a mock serious voice. “I can’t imagine what kind of blind dates you might have to face next year.”

“We certainly can’t afford any bad luck right before the holidays,” Jon agreed. His hand returned to her waist, and he leaned forward.

Jon’s mouth was warm, and slightly sweet from the punch. Sansa became vividly aware of the pressure of his fingers, the way her elaborate bun brushed the back of her neck as she tilted her head, the slippery texture of the empty cup clutched in her hand. He pulled away too soon, and Sansa reached for support once more.

“Maybe just a little more?” Her voice came out breathy and high. “You can’t be too thorough about these things.”    

Jon kept his grey eyes locked on hers as he gently took the cup from her hand and set it on the counter behind him next to his. Then he stepped a little closer and brought his other hand to her jaw just below her ear.

Sansa was better prepared for their second kiss. She sucked lightly on his lower lip, leaning into him as he opened his mouth to her. His arm pressed against her lower back until they were flush against one another, and her patent-covered toes hit his shoes. Grenadine and rum tasted better on his tongue than in the punch bowl, Sansa decided, and she threaded her fingers in the long curls at the back of his neck to bring him even closer…

“Well if it isn’t our own Christmas miracle! Snow’s finally got himself kissed.” At Theon’s sarcastic drawl, they broke apart. Jon dropped his hand from her face, but Sansa kept clutching him, off-balance. Theon brushed past them, throwing another snide comment over his shoulder at her as he entered the kitchen. “Looks like you won’t need my cousin’s number after all!”

Sansa tucked her face against Jon’s chest in embarrassment. Beneath her cheek, she could feel his muscles shudder as he fought off laughter. When his breathing steadied, he stroked her back in a comforting circle.

“What do you say we go out there and show the Greyjoys we’ll have no more need of their matchmaking skills?” Jon whispered close to her ear. Sansa pulled back to look at him and grinned.

Maybe her parents’ Christmas party was a little bit magical after all. 


End file.
